


A Good Gift Well Given

by cassbuttandsquirrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is back ALL RIGHT!, Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, Rated teen for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassbuttandsquirrel/pseuds/cassbuttandsquirrel
Summary: The coffee was good.The sound of the door slamming behind Sammy and that god-awful menace of a nephilim was great.Looking at Cas over the rim of his coffee mug? Even better.[He was lying - the coffee was shit, and looking at Castiel, the guy that was fucking obliterated all those weeks ago, at Cas, who annoyed a comsic being into spitting him back out--Well, Dean gets the feeling that this might just be the best day of his entire god-forsaken life.]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	A Good Gift Well Given

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, lots of pov switching in this fic - what can I say, I have commitment issues ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> [the gift mentioned in the title is a reference to Dean (and us) getting our favourite angel back]

The coffee was good. 

The sound of the door slamming behind Sammy and that god-awful menace of a nephilim was great. 

Looking at Cas over the rim of his coffee mug? Even better. 

Dean took another sip. 

[He was lying - the coffee was shit, and looking at Castiel, the guy that was fucking obliterated all those weeks ago, at Cas, who annoyed a cosmic being into spitting him back out--

Well, Dean gets the feeling that this might just be the best day of his entire god-forsaken life.]

**

Dean seems to be taking his time with his coffee, and Castiel is content to wait. He catches Dean’s eyes as he looks up from the contents of his mug, no longer sleep-bleary as they had been when he first stumbled into the kitchenette, and a wave of fondness crashes over him with such ferocity that there is no mistaking its source. 

Dean’s soul is iridescent with brightness but he keeps his grumpy façade in the frown between his brows. With a great show of effort, he uncurls his left hand from the heat of the mug and gestures for Castiel to come closer. At his hesitation, the hunter rolls his eyes and stretches out - joints popping loudly - to hook his foot around the leg of the nearest chair. The cacophony of noise splits the air as the chair reluctantly grates against the rough grain of the floorboards and Dean surprisingly has the wherewithal to look apologetic. He’s dragged it out in front of the couch, and adds a gruff “Sit.” to the sudden silence. 

Castiel takes a moment to reminisce back on a time where these sorts of orders were reversed. 

With an annoyed sigh he gets up to take the proffered seat, sitting sideways so that their knees knock together. Really, it was Dean’s fault for miscalculating the distance needed between the couch and the chair, and Castiel makes sure to communicate that when Dean raises his eyebrows. Dean shifts to sit with his knees wide, bracing his elbows on his thighs, cradling the steaming mug in his joined hands. Castiel takes a moment to mirror him, adjusting the trench coat out of his lap with a rustle of canvas. 

**

Cas is smiling even as he rolls his eyes. Dean hunches awkwardly to busy his mouth with another sip of (truly awful) coffee to avoid beaming back and giving wings to the butterflies in his stomach. It too early in the morning for this fucking nonsense, but here was his best friend back from _beyond_ _the dead_ and Dean was only human. He presses his knees firmly against the angel’s, avoiding his eyes, taking comfort from the small bit of warmth the contact provided. Cas doesn’t move, so Dean shifts his weight and very slowly begins to lean forward, closing his eyes and tilting, until he can feel the puffs of his friend’s breath on his chin and then he stops resting his forehead lightly against the other’s. It was a stupid, intimate move; one that even Dean “Denial” Winchester wouldn’t be able to brush off with a gruff explanation. But the coffee was bad, and the sun had just come up, and his arms were too heavy to move and Dean just needed another reassurance that Cas was alive - and if it meant huffing morning breath for the rest of his life, Dean would do it. (Surely that was a form of self-inflicted punishment and not at all romantic, right?)

Cas was alive, _alive_ \-- at this point you would think Winchesters would be more blasé about friends returning from the grave, but wonders never cease. 

And anyway, no one had ever come back this way, not by themselves, not from _beyond_ the beyond, not by sheer force of will and a knack for being annoying. That was the other thing - Cas had _wanted_ to come back. He had decided for himself that there was something good here, something that he needed, something that he couldn’t be without. An angel, a being from the dawn of time, thought there was something _here_ for him that he couldn’t leave behind. And maybe it was the fate of the whole world, or maybe it was Sam, or maybe it was Jack, or maybe, _maybe_ , it was Dean. As the rising sun cast weak rays through the dusty motel blinds Dean indulged himself. Maybe _he_ was that one good thing. Maybe he was what Cas needed and couldn’t be without. Maybe _he_ was what Cas wanted, the fragile, fucked up human that an angel couldn’t leave behind. He hated himself for that hope, but in the stillness of this moment he let himself revel in it. 

All these years of unspoken words between them and this quiet sunrise could change everything. If Dean ever had any balls at all this could be _the_ moment, _their_ moment. 

Like a bad omen, Cas interrupts this train of thought, his voice as gravel-filled as Dean remembers. 

“Customarily, this gesture is called honi or hongi in Polynesian cultures and it’s a symbolic greeting wherein one shares in the life-breath of the other.”

The fact that Cas can say something so _Cas_ while Dean is trying his best to _do something_ _goddamnit_ \--

Affection consumes him so suddenly he feels uncontrollably giddy with it and in a moment free of self-doubt he fits his mouth against Cas’s, if only to forestall anything more embarrassing like a hysterical laugh or a sob. When Cas kisses him back there are tears on his face despite his best efforts, and when they pull apart mere seconds later it's definitely not because Dean can’t stop his lips from trembling. 

“That’s not-” Cas halts, and takes a moment to clear his throat, “- usually a part of the tradition.”

That chokes a wet laugh out of Dean’s constricted throat, a bit closer to a sob than he’d ever admit.

“You don’t fucking say.”

**Author's Note:**

> This scenario is the beginning of a personal head-canon that has been referenced in some of my other fics for this fandom so there is a possibility of another chapter or continuation. I desperately needed this to be out of my drafts, however, so this is all that's currently available. 
> 
> if the second part ever makes their appearance it will definitely be smutty but also hopefully hilarious (mostly due to the surrounding circumstances of Dean's dream cowboy case) 
> 
> Lots of love to you and your families; hope you are all staying safe and healthy!!
> 
> Find me on [ Twitter! ](https://twitter.com/librarian_gamer?s=07)


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